


pumpkin and sesame

by anabel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Celebrations, F/F, Fluff, Gift Giving, Homesickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-09 21:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabel/pseuds/anabel
Summary: Susan and Aravis exchange gifts.





	pumpkin and sesame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/gifts).



It was Christmas in Cair Paravel, and Aravis had never felt more homesick. 

There had been no Christmas in Calormen. No Father Christmas bestowing gifts, no snowmen and icy winter wonderlands outside her bedroom window. She felt out of place here, even as she tried to force a gaiety she did not feel. Everyone was so happy – there were feasts and dancing and gifts, and Lucy had put mistletoe everywhere.

Aravis had no desire to return to Calormen. Her life was here now, and there was nothing for her in her birthland. And yet, with everyone so full of joy around her, she hungered for what she had lost; the richly coloured paintings and tapestries that hung on every wall, the spices that perfumed the air, the melodic sound of her own language being spoken. Here the art was placid landscapes, the food simple and bland, the language harsh and flat. Could there be a more foreign time than that of celebration?

She placed a smile on her face as Susan came towards her. Her smile was not the Narnian smile, full and unguarded – Narnians smiled too much – but Susan seemed to see no lack, and her answering smile was warm.

“I have a gift for you,” Susan said, taking Aravis’s hand in hers, their fingers winding together. A simple gesture, far less showy than the public affection of Edmund and Cor across the room, but just as meaningful, for neither of them was inclined to spectacle.

“Surely you have given me my gift,” Aravis said, and did not mean the lute Susan had presented her with that evening, or did not mean that only. 

Susan’s cheeks grew rosy, and Aravis’s heart warmed. 

“You may have that gift any time you desire,” Susan said, her voice low music. “But I have another for you, in our chamber.”

“Another! My blood runs slow from the feast, my lady. I do not know if I could manage another.”

Susan bit her lip, her eyes sparkling, and Aravis’s smile turned wicked. 

“Come,” Susan said, and pulled her by the hand down the corridor. 

Their chamber was cold, but within minutes Susan had a fire crackling in the grate, warming the air. It wasn’t Calormen, but it was cosy, and it was theirs. Aravis’s homesickness eased a little as she knelt behind Susan, her chin resting on Susan’s shoulder.

“There,” Susan said, briskly, and dusted her hands off before she stood. She gave Aravis her hand to help her up. “Now for your gift.”

Aravis let her eyes trail slowly over Susan’s resplendent Christmas gown, just to provoke her blushes again. “I shall enjoy it.”

“Later,” Susan said, laughing, and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, just enough to wake the fire in Aravis’s blood, and then Susan had stepped away to something large standing in the curve of the window, shrouded in fabric. 

“If you don’t like it, just tell me,” she said, looking earnestly at Aravis. “I won’t be offended.”

Aravis was an innately curious person, and she pulled the covering off with all haste. 

Then she stood staring down at the painting that was revealed, her blood rushing in her ears.

It was not a painting she had ever seen before, but she knew the style at a glance. No pastoral landscape here, as watery and colourless as the Narnian sky. No insipidity, or flatly pleasant mountain ranges, or static Northern castles as stony as their keeps. 

The setting was a Calormen harvest festival, all colour and life. The vibrancy of the characters leaped from the canvas – Aravis could almost hear the aggrieved shouts of the vegetable sellers at the small child dashing past and oversetting a table, or the music of the lute-player tucked in the corner. Here was the Southern sky, and the architecture she missed, and even the harvest pastries that she could taste if she closed her eyes. And in the foreground, off to the side, were two figures Aravis recognised, hand in hand. 

“I would not walk with you through a festival,” she said, hardly recognising her own voice. “It is too loud, and you would not like the heat.”

Susan’s hand was on her shoulder, light and firm. “I would walk with you anywhere, my heart.”

Aravis imagined visiting Calormen with Susan by her side. The relationship between the two kingdoms was still somewhat strained, despite the lesson Aslan had taught Rabadash these three years gone. She _thought_ they would pass unmolested – Rabadash would think twice before inviting the wrath of Aslan by attempting to force Susan into marriage again – but she would not risk the safety of the woman at her side for all the homesickness in the world. 

“You would like these,” she said, pointing at the pastries on the groaning tray. The baker who held them had a face that reminded Aravis of her childhood nurse, and despite the bittersweetness of her nostalgia, Aravis smiled at the thought. “They were always my favourite. Pumpkin and sesame.”

“We must write to Calormen for the recipe. You can teach me to make them.”

“I am no baker,” Aravis protested, but the scent-memory conjured by the painting tempted her.

“Then we will inflict our failures on my brothers and Lucy,” Susan said, brushing a wayward curl back behind Aravis’s ear, “until we become quite accomplished.”

Aravis turned and kissed her, deep and sweet, the contentment in her breast a living thing. 

Perhaps there would always be an ache for Calormen, for the world of her youth. To be a foreigner in a foreign land was to hunger formlessly for the familiar. Yet were not the Kings and Queens of Narnia foreigners as well, come from a world beyond? In time her wistful memories would fade, and Narnia become not only the home of her heart’s love, but her own home as well.

“Thank you,” she said, when the kiss ended, and Susan’s head rested on Aravis’s shoulder. “Thank you for giving me Calormen, that I may hang it on my wall and remember.”

“There is a tapestry as well,” Susan said, her eyes soft, “but it was not finished in time. I shall give it to you for your nameday, and you must pretend to be surprised.”

Aravis ran her fingers down the side of Susan’s cheek, watching the way Susan’s eyes drifted shut, the way her tongue unconsciously wet her lips. “I will be very surprised. Now, however, I wish to claim a different gift.”

Susan’s eyes opened again, alight with mischief. “Do you, my lady? But I have given you a gift. Isn’t it my turn to receive?”

Aravis’s training with Queen Lucy in the art of swordsmanship had not been in vain. With her added strength, it was the work of an instant to sweep Susan up in her arms and stride masterfully towards their bed. “It shall be a mutual celebration,” she said, as Susan laughed.

And it was.


End file.
